‘Birthright’ Quakers

For quite some time, Quakers have found it worthwhile – or at least traditional – to have an idea of who is formally part of our Religious Society. Quite naturally, we refer to people who have such formal status members; in Britain, we refer to those who have some degree of relationship with a Meeting but are not in membership as attenders. Membership has formally existed for some time, and while there are naturally voices who wish to see it abolished – and even more who wish to see it reformed – it has persisted. In Britain Yearly Meeting, we (supposedly) require that people in certain roles be members, though the only role that this seems to be universally applied to is that of trustee, a restriction that has sound legal basis. Quaker faith & practice recommends that clerks of meetings, elders, overseers, treasurers, registering officers and members of nominations committees should be in membership (Qf&p 3.24).

Nowadays, people principally come into membership in Britain Yearly Meeting by applying for it, and going through some sort of process. This usually involves a visit from seasoned members who talk about the application with the applicant, and produce a report, which is generally a sort of spiritual biography, though it can take many forms, and largely serves to help the Area Meeting as a whole to better know the new member. There are also provisions for a child to be brought into membership on the application of a parent or guardian, and I consider both the adult and child processes below.

A Quaker Rumspringa?

In an earlier post, I suggested the idea that a spiritual convincement experience, involving a direct experience of the Divine, might be something we could consider a prerequisite for membership. This was not to advocate it as an actual change we should undertake right now. There are lots of problems with the idea, though it is attractive in principle. One of the problems is the experience of those raised among Friends.

The thing is, when you taste something you have never tasted before, particularly if it is a strong flavour, it is strange, it's unmistakable. It grabs your attention and you really know you've tasted it. If, however, the flavour has been familiar to you since your childhood, you might barely be aware of it. This is a major factor in culinary culture shock, noticeable even in something as simple as an American and a Brit trying tomato ketchup made for the other market. To me, American ketchup tastes unpleasantly sweet, but to an American, British ketchup tastes like it's been spiked with vinegar. When you get into things that are even more different, like spices or seasonings that are characteristic of particular cuisines, it is even more pronounced. Consider for instance kimchi, or the Japanese umeboshi. For the European palate, east Asian food is particularly apt for examples.